


The Anti-Pumpkin Brigade

by WelpThisIsHappening



Series: Out of the Frying Pan [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-25 06:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12525212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsHappening/pseuds/WelpThisIsHappening
Summary: Emma has a plan. Or, rather, a schedule. And she's not following either. Not for lack of trying, but before she can get to either one she has to contend with mandatory couple costumes and her kid tucked away in some corner and avoiding pumpkin at all costs.Killian has a plan. Or, at least, part of a plan. And a list that seems to grow every single day. But before he can get to either one he has to stand under bright lights and ignore how much foundation Henry's wearing and refuse to bake with pumpkin.Or: A Halloween!Out of the Frying Pan almost sequel





	1. Chapter 1

There was nowhere to walk.

And she was late.

Nearly half an hour and she’d blame traffic, which really wasn’t much of an excuse because the Battery Tunnel was barely a tunnel at rush hour, just some kind of glorified parking garage that had, at least, allowed her to change into her costume without risk of injury.

The restaurant was packed – tables covered in candy and drinks and people  _everywhere_ and Emma wondered how they knew so many people. Or, rather, how Mary Margaret and Ariel knew so many people.

Because Mary Margaret and Ariel seemed to know the entire population of Manhattan. Or maybe Brooklyn. Since that’s where they were.

There were, what felt like, several million people invited to this party.

And all inside the Jolly Roger, the second one because, as Mary Margaret put it,  _there’s more square footage there and the decoration options are just, you know, endless,_ and Killian had quirked an eyebrow at Emma and there wasn’t really anything any of them could do about it.

It was tradition.

Not to mention the combined Halloween-party-planning power of Mary Margaret and Ariel was just questionably strong at this point.

The party was mandatory and the smile was mandatory and The Jolly 2.0 was closed for the night and Henry was probably going to eat a questionable amount of candy.

Emma was wearing a costume.

Costumes were, still, mandatory.

“You look a little overwhelmed, love,” Killian said, an arm snaking its way around Emma’s waist and, well, maybe she did and maybe she took her first real deep breath of the night when she leaned back against him.

“God, you scared me to death,” she muttered and Killian might have pressed a kiss to her shoulder, but she couldn’t really think straight when his hand did whatever it was doing.

“Happy Halloween or something.”  
  
“That’s the spirit. If you knock this crown off my head, Mary Margaret will kill you.”  
  
“I would put my money on Ari.”  
  
“Ah, that’s probably right.”

He chuckled against her, fingers tracing absentmindedly against her hip and Emma tried to remember that whole  _breathing_ thing. “How’d it go?” Killian asked, mumbling the words against her neck and he probably had hair in his face.

There were people everywhere.

He didn’t seem to mind.

“Eh.”

“Not an answer, Swan.”

“Demanding. Bordering somewhere close to spookily bitter.”

“Curious,” he corrected, but there was a hint of laughter in his voice and he still hadn’t moved his head. “And I’ve been here for what's felt like several days. I think I’m also allowed a little bit of bitterness in between making sure we don’t break several dozen fire codes.”  
  
“How could you do that? Isn’t there just...like, one?”  
  
“I honestly have no idea,” Killian muttered, tugging her a bit closer to his front and Emma didn’t argue, letting her shoes slide across the floor until she was certain she could feel every inch of him against her. “Ask Locksley if you’re curious. I bet he’d know.”

“I’m too exhausted for any of that,” Emma admitted, eyes falling shut like they’d just given up and didn’t care about the party or the people or the inevitable string of questions she’d get from most of those people.

And none of them would be about the new cookbook – sitting at No. 1 on  _The New York Times Best-Seller_ list after a few only few days on the shelves, thank you very much – or how she’d hit her mark perfectly every time she had a mark to hit that afternoon.

While wearing a crown.

It was, after all, a theme episode.

No, the questions would be about  _everything else,_ the plans they’d only kind of discussed when they’d had two seconds to even consider any of it.

They should pick a date.

Mary Margaret kept mentioning that. And so did Ariel. And Ruby. And Regina. And Zelena,  _jeez,_ because being some kind of celebrity chef couple clearly meant  _a ratings boost the likes this network has never seen_ and Emma was fairly certain Killian was going to punch something when she told him that.

Killian must have smiled, or possibly laughed again because Emma could feel something that maybe was his lips moving against her neck again. “When did you change?” he asked softly, tapping one finger in some sort of unspoken suggestion to turn around.

She did.

And,  _shit,_ that wasn’t even fair.  

Her reaction must have shown on her face because Killian’s eyebrows leapt up his forehead and that only made his eyes wider and even more blue and that was dumb. All of those things were dumb.

Halloween was dumb.

That was a lie.

Halloween in Brooklyn was a slightly tiring inconvenience at best and she hadn’t even done much more than sit in the backseat of a town car Regina absolutely set up and waited until the driver said  _ok, mascara now_ when they moved over the occasional bit of smooth road. There were a questionable number of potholes and cobblestones in Gowanus.

Halloween in Brooklyn, however, also meant that Killian Jones was standing in front of her in full, and mandatory, costume and, because, Mary Margaret was, well, Mary Margaret, that costume matched Emma’s.

“Huh,” Emma breathed, wincing slightly when she realized what she’d done.

Killian smiled. No, Emma’s barely functioning subconscious pointed out, he smirked at her, one side of his mouth tugging up and something flashing in his gaze and the  _real_ problem with Halloween in Brooklyn, she realized, was that there was no above-restaurant apartment to make out with her boyfriend in.

Fiancé.

To make out with her  _fianc_ _é_ in.  

Maybe she wouldn’t mind those sure-to-be asked questions quite so much.

“Swan,” Killian said, tapping his finger again and he hadn’t actually moved his hand. She was still standing there – staring at him. “Still with me, love?”  
  
“Why do you look so good?” Emma asked. God, she’d half shouted the question in his face like it was an accusation and maybe it was and that seemed like a bad starting point for what she was trying to accomplish that night.

She had a plan.

Or half of a plan.

Like, at least, a quarter of a plan. Maybe two-eighths at worst. No, wait, that was a quarter too. They’d just done fractions with Roland, like, four days before. She should remember these things.

But Killian had made onion rings and Will kept trying to teach Henry how to scoop ice cream so he could make his own floats and, at some point, there seemed to just be a  _decision_ that Henry could go behind the bar and that left Emma’s heart beating a bit faster than normal.

And her  _fianc_ _é_ looked unfairly good in his costume.

Killian laughed, the crinkles around those absurdly blue eyes doing something else to Emma’s heart and all her backseat makeup work was going to be for naught if they just started making out in the middle of the restaurant.

She didn’t really care about that.

“You’re doing that thing with your face again, love,” Killian said, pulling his hand away from her waist long enough to draw a quiet whine out of her and tap lightly on her jaw, like that would prove his point.

Emma scowled and he laughed again, ducking his head and kissing right where his fingers had been. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she grumbled, but it sounded like the fairly weak argument it absolutely was. “Did you change here?”  
  
“That’s not how this works. I asked two questions already. You don’t get to follow up until I’ve gotten, at least, one answer.”  
  
“I really can’t remember the question.”  
  
“That distracted by how good I look in this costume, huh?”  
  
“That was a gut reaction, don’t let it go to your head.”  
  
“Far too late,” Killian grinned. “C’mon, Swan. How’d today go, really?”  
  
She probably shouldn’t still be so goddamn charmed by all of it, but she was having a hard time putting together coherent thoughts, so all things considered, swooning slightly, again, always,  _indefinitely,_ almost made sense.

And that vest was probably going to look really good on their floor later that night.

_God._

“It was good,” Emma said, an obvious distraction in her voice that might not have had anything to do with the vest or how easily she could have pushed her fingers through his hair and tugged him towards her and, possibly, offended an entire restaurant with their public displays of affection.

“You sound very certain.”  
  
“You sound very sarcastic.”  
  
Killian shrugged, running his hand up her side and bunching up the fabric of her dress in the process. “We should have gone home,” he said softly and the actual, genuine concern in his voice didn’t surprise Emma, but her heart was possibly exploding.

“We couldn’t do that. You had to bake.”  
  
“I didn’t really bake that much,” he muttered. “There’s more candy here than any other food and just, like, a questionable amount of pumpkin-flavored stuff,, but Ariel had some kind of decorating scheme that had to be executed perfectly or, you know, the world was going to end. Plus, you know, I’ve got to do all that stuff tomorrow.”

“Ah, there’s the sarcasm again. You’re really anti-pumpkin, aren’t you?”  
  
“There was no sarcasm, Swan and I am anti anything that is a food stereotype. There’s just...way too much pumpkin in the world.”

“It’s blowing my mind that you have this many feelings about pumpkin. You’ll probably have to use that tomorrow.”  
  
“I refuse to use pumpkin tomorrow. I am just pointing out my schedule. To you, person who might be potentially interested in where I’m going to be tomorrow.”  
  
“I know where you’re going to be tomorrow,” Emma promised. “It’s all Henry’s been talking about for the last week. I think that’s why he wanted to come tonight. So he could show you off in front of his friends.”  
  
She didn’t even have to look up to see that the tips of his ears had gone red, but she was a bit surprised to see his lips pressed together tightly, like he was trying to stop himself from saying something and if she weren’t so goddamn exhausted, Emma probably would have asked about it. She was too busy trying not to fall over.

“You think?” Killian asked after a few more moments and it was  _loud_ in the restaurant, all those people and all that sugar and they should probably move. They had family members to acknowledge and vaguely matching costumes to show off, just to prove they were actually wearing them.

Emma’s crown was giving her headache.

“Do I think what?” Emma mumbled. It was difficult to keep up with the conversation, particularly when her mind was only firing on half speed and most of that speed seemed focused on directing the conversation to her reduced fraction of a plan.

“That he’s showing off,” Killian answered, voice still quiet enough that she could barely hear it over the din of the restaurant.

Emma pulled back and his eyebrows weren’t back to their biologically determined position, pulled low until there was a slight crinkle in between them that she swore she could  _feel_ in the very center of her and she licked her lips before she answered.

“I mean, obviously,” Emma said. Except the words didn’t come out as  _sure_ as she wanted them to, far too whisper-y and that wasn’t even really a word, but Killian looked so goddamn determined and earnest and maybe the plan was going better than she thought it was.

“You guys are totally going to win,” she continued, resting her palms flat against that stupid, offensive, green vest. No, green wasn’t the right color. God, it, like, accentuated his eyes or something. “What color is this?”

Killian blinked, the crinkle in between his eyes getting deeper or something skin couldn’t actually do. “This is a very confusing conversation.”  
  
“I haven’t had any coffee today.”  
  
“We could fix that.”  
  
Emma hummed, nodding and glancing slowly towards the kitchen, fairly certain it was, somehow, even louder there and that was probably Eric having some kind of mental breakdown about whatever menu Ariel and Mary Margaret had decided on.

“Yeah, ok, but seriously, what color is this?” she pressed, tugging lightly on the front of the vest. That was a mistake. It just pulled tighter, like that was a thing that was even possible, and Killian leaned closer to her out of instinct.

Maybe.  
  
Or maybe he was just trying to ensure Emma didn’t rip the vest. She wasn’t going to argue particulars when he was just a few inches away from her, her knees not working quite as well anymore and she pressed up on her toes before she thought about how she was going to stay upright.

It didn’t matter – he moved his arm back around her waist.

He tilted his head slightly, careful not to knock her crown on the floor and, eventually, she’d probably thank him for that. Maybe after the vest landed on a floor that also included a bed and didn’t require everyone they knew to be a few feet away.

They swayed slightly and Emma’s eyes closed again, but it wasn’t exhaustion, it was like she was trying to  _take in the moment_ or something equally sentimental and one hand was still holding onto the goddamn vest when her other fingers found the hair at the nape of Killian’s neck and he made some absurd noise she’d absolutely think about for a questionable amount of time.

Emma sighed or just exhaled or maybe resettled into the feel of him next to her and his lips against hers and the way his fingers always seemed to trace out the same semicircle at the bottom of her spine whenever they seemed up to end up this way.

They did that a lot.

They were were probably scarring Henry for life.

That didn’t bode well for her plan.

“You’re thinking,” Killian muttered, barely moving away from her lips and she could almost feel the letters lingering on her mouth.

“That’s stupid.”  
  
“They’re your thoughts, love.”  
  
“Why aren’t we still making out?”  
  
He pulled back slightly, staring at her incredulously and that wasn’t really what Emma meant to say. She bit her lip tightly, a fresh wave of something that wasn’t quite nerves – hadn’t been  _nerves_ in more than a year and certainly not since the ring had made an appearance – but might have just been  _want_ or  _need_ or something they absolutely couldn’t act on in the middle of a restaurant.

He was frustratingly good looking.

“I honestly have no answer for that,” Killian said and his expression shifted slightly, turning into something that looked a bit more like pride and maybe matched up with the want that Emma could practically feel simmering in the pit of her stomach.

That was almost a cooking pun.

It was gross.

Emma laughed, but it came out more as a scoff and her eyes were starting to droop again. They’d filmed early – in hair and makeup by seven and out of the studio by one and there’d been an interview that Emma was fairly certain she’d answered in English and then some signing thing at the Barnes & Noble on Fifth Ave and maybe she should try and challenge Henry to a candy-eating challenge if only to give herself some kind of sugar rush.

That was a bad plan.

She’d just end up crashing in the middle of the kitchen or at one of the fifty tables pushed in a brand-new pattern that both Ariel and Mary Margaret had probably thought about since the last Halloween party and Killian was still staring at her like he was worried her knees were just going to give out at some point.

They might.

If she got through her plan.

“Emma,” he said and her gaze must have gone cloudy because his had turned sharper, eyes narrowing again and mouth slanted somewhere between concern and chastising. She really just wanted him to kiss her. Again. Anywhere that was not The Jolly Roger.  
  
Where her kid was….somewhere, probably bragging to a whole group of friends how he was going to be on TV the next day.

“The line was really long,” she mumbled, dropping her head onto his chest and she was going to trip over her dress at some point. “And that’s a good thing, I know it’s a good thing, so it’s not like I’m complaining, really, but, you know…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I kind of wanted to be here.”  
  
He stiffened slightly and Emma wondered what she said, but there wasn’t a chance to ask or answer any more of the questions she’d pointedly ignored or, she was most frustrated to realize, kiss her fiancé.

She should probably stop thinking of Killian like that, it felt decidedly possessive in some kind of middle school way, like she’d just started dating the guy she’d been shooting furtive glances in home room and it was a very convoluted metaphor, but she couldn’t stop lingering at labels.

Or staring at her ring.

God, she wanted to plan things.

She just didn’t want to answer questions.

“Yeah?” Killian asked and Emma got the distinct impression they were both dancing around something. They weren’t moving.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I mean...it’s, well, maybe not 2.0, because it is kind of, you know, out here, but in the kitchen in general and…”  
  
She should have talked faster.

There shouldn’t have been so much stuttering involved and she wasn’t scared of some sort of indefinite type of life plan, wanted in some sort of almost questionably intent way, but he’d asked Henry to help when Regina had announced  _you’re competing on Halloween Wars, there’s no room for argument, pick an assistant because they’re playing by different rules now._

He’d tried to argue anyway.

He stopped when he realized Henry was thrilled. Ecstatic. Over the moon. Actually jumping up and down  – drawing the ire of Will behind the bar when he nearly kicked a bottle of what was promised to be  _the fancy scotch_ , but Henry had only mumbled a quick apology and then started jumping again and there hadn’t been a repeat since  _the dad incident_ , but Emma was fairly sure that moment was pretty damn close.

Maybe that was when she decided on the plan.

No, it was way before then. It was way before the ring and even before  _the dad incident,_ some tiny bit of her brain that had latched onto the hope and the idea and the maybe that she desperately wanted to be a certainty.

Emma was way too tired for any of this.

And there was a kid rambling next to her.

“Deep breaths,” Killian said, moving his right hand to ruffle Henry’s hair and earning a noise in response that was becoming far too familiar to both of them, something in between a grumble and inching closer to a moan every single day. “You’ve got enunciate if you’re going to talk.”  
  
“I am enunciating,” Henry argued. He widened his eyes in a move that was so  _Killian,_ Emma had to lock her knees to stop herself from just collapsing into a heap of feelings and a distinct lack of sleep and a different Rapunzel costume because Ruby bet her she wouldn’t change that year. “And you guys were, you know...whatever.”  
  
Killian laughed again, that tension that had been lingering in the arm still wrapped around Emma’s waist loosening slightly when he nodded seriously, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Henry made the sound again.

“What are you not enunciating, kid?” Emma asked, reaching forward to fix his hair. And there was the noise hat trick. “Jeez, come on, you can’t make that face when all your friends are in the corner and how many candy bars have you had already?”  
  
“None.”  
  
“Henry.”  
  
“No, seriously, Mom, like, not one. I’ve been…”  
  
He cut himself off, face flushing nearly as red as Ariel’s hair when his eyes dropped to his shoes, suddenly preoccupied with digging a heel into the floor Emma was sure she was half a second away from collapsing on top of.

And it hit her suddenly – Killian’s quick intake of air, his attempts to make the noise sound like anything except the laugh it was, appreciated, but entirely successful, aiding in the realization – her jaw dropping and Henry’s face, somehow, getting even redder.

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbled, head snapping between her, suddenly, very old kid and a fiancé she couldn’t seem to stop making out with in public places and her eyes were probably just going to fall out at some point.  
  
“If I say deep breaths again, but direct it towards you, that probably comes off as sarcastic still, right?” Killian asked, the smile turning back into a smirk.

Emma rolled her eyes, shoulders sagging and she hadn’t been holding her breath. She was desperately trying to breathe. She couldn’t understand how she was capable of exhaling that dramatically.

Henry looked like he was trying to teleport anywhere else in the entire world.

“Yeah, probably,” Emma muttered, but she wasn’t frustrated so much as slightly stunned and she probably should have known.

“Can we talk about, literally, anything else?” Henry begged. He hadn’t actually looked at them again, still trying to bore a hole into the floor with his eyes or, possibly, the heel of his shoe. “Like...anything. At all. Didn’t you have stuff to talk about, Mom?”  
  
It was her turn to blush – or possibly glare at her son. Emma inhaled sharply, trying to pull back all that previously sighed-out oxygen back in through her nose and Henry seemed to realize his mistake immediately.

“Oh sorry,” he mumbled, trying to stuff his hands into his pockets and rolling his eyes when he remembered he was also wearing a required Halloween costume. It probably matched with the girl he’d been making out with in that corner.

God.

“It’s fine, Henry,” Emma promised, doing her best to ignore Killian’s curious glance on the side of her head.

She’d asked Henry –  _of course she’d asked Henry_ – mentioned the idea of the idea of one quarter of a maybe-plan and hadn’t been surprised to see him start jumping again, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet as the smile on his face nearly took over all his other features.

He’d shouted  _yeah, yeah, yeah_ several times in quick succession and then launched himself at Emma, wrapping his arms around her waist and nearly knocking her into the couch.

“Somehow I feel like I’m missing something important,” Killian said, but the words seemed to get caught in Emma’s hair and she tried to focus on how he hadn’t actually moved away from her. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, left hand moving up and down her back until it almost felt like a metronome, making it just a bit easier to breathe even when the goddamn  _Monster Mash_ started blaring over speakers someone must have rented.

“It’s fine,” Emma repeated. Killian didn’t look convinced. “Did they...um, where did we get speakers from?”  
  
She hadn’t meant for the question to come out so cautiously, the  _we_ there almost hanging in the air like some kind of flashing neon sign proclaiming a lack of wedding date and a restaurant that wasn’t really hers.

She did, however, spend most of the New York Wine and Food festival in the Jolly tent, building,  _thing_ , selling barbeque sauce and making sure there was double the stock than there’d been the year before because Robin was right – Killian never brought enough.

She’d helped make it, memories of that night sitting at the forefront of her mind for the last week, Henry perched on a stool he’d dragged in from the bar as he and Roland tried to figure out multiplying fractions and reported back on each taste-testing.

They’d ended up with more sauce on their faces than they probably should have and Regina had to throw away Roland’s shirt, the school uniform sacrificed to the sauce gods. Or so Killian told her when she asked  _what the hell is going on here_ as soon as she walked into the kitchen.

Roland took a picture.

They were...two-thirds of the way there, Emma was sure. She hoped. She wanted.

She’d never actually been behind the bar.

Killian, however, didn’t miss a beat, flashing a smile her direction and his hand didn’t still once. “Locksley knows a guy who knows a guy who owns some kind of actual, honest to God studio and here we are, blasting radio hits of the 70s.”  
  
“That’s oddly specific.”  
  
He shrugged and Emma got that feeling again – missing something or not hearing all the words in the sentence. And Henry was staring at Killian now, a look of barely contained disbelief on his face.

“Are we all having the same conversation?” Emma asked, having to shout a bit over the sound of the music and it was definitely on repeat. “God, aren’t there other Halloween songs?”  
  
“The entire soundtrack to  _Nightmare Before Christmas,_ ” Henry suggested. It was a, nearly valiant, attempt at changing the subject.

Killian kept looking over Henry’s shoulder.

“M’s wouldn’t be into that,” Emma reasoned. “It’s kind of, you know, dark for her.”  
  
Henry hummed in agreement, eyes darting back towards Killian and the look changed from disbelief to something that felt a bit more like determination and expectations. “For real?” he asked. “You guys were all…”  
  
“So were you,” Killian said.

Henry blushed again. “That’s not even...whatever,” he stammered, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “I thought we were going to do this.”  
  
“Do what?” Emma asked, but she didn’t get a response or even an immediate acknowledgement that she’d done much more than just continued to stand there. Henry just kept staring expectantly at Killian who, in turn, did that  _wide eye thing_ that they, apparently, both shared now and Emma tried not to actually stamp her foot in frustration.

She didn’t get a chance.

Again.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret shouted, pushing through the crowd that seemed to be growing every minute, and wearing her own costume. And maybe Emma had spoken too soon about  _The Nightmare Before Christmas._

“What are you wearing?” she asked, gaze tracing over the black dress and high collar and Mary Margaret must have gotten that custom made. “God, who are you supposed to be?”  
  
Mary Margaret clicked her tongue, disappointment flashing across her face and Emma would blame the exhaustion for that. Or her general confusion at whatever conversation she wasn’t a part of.

Henry was still staring at Killian.

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said, nodding slowly in an understanding that Emma was both jealous of and frustrated with. “Are congratulations in order, then?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and the smile fell off Mary Margaret’s face so quickly it might have actually succeeded at that teleporting Henry was trying to accomplish earlier. “M&M’s,” he hissed, shaking his head deftly and Mary Margaret let out something that might have actually been a squeak.

Killian’s hand stopped moving.

“Did you know this music was, apparently, a radio hit of the 1970s?” Emma asked and her attempts at controlling the conversation were just pitiful at this point. “And also, where is the candy? I would like...just a questionable amount of candy.”  
  
Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes, glancing quickly at Killian who appeared to be pleading silently for her to  _stop asking questions_ and, maybe, for the first time in her life, she agreed. Kind of.

“Have you talked to Regina yet?” Mary Margaret asked. Emma’s eyes were going to get stuck facing the wrong way if she kept rolling her eyes.

Happy Halloween or something.

It wasn’t even Halloween – it was a week before Halloween, but the sentiment, she hoped, was the same.

She really hoped her eyes didn’t get stuck mid-roll.

“Where is the candy, Mary Margaret?” Emma countered, raising her voice again when Henry let out a  _whoop_ as the music, finally, changed. Goddamn  _Nightmare Before Christmas._ “Jeez,” she mumbled. “Are we just going to play these two songs on a loop? And how did it switch when  _Monster Mash_ just kept repeating?”  
  
Mary Margaret glanced at Killian again, like she was trying to make sure Emma wasn’t having some kind of complete breakdown in the middle of the Jolly dining room. “I mean, that last one was a valid question. Although, I’m assuming it was probably Ari since she was in charge of getting the speakers. Is music her gig?”  
  
“Yeah,” Mary Margaret nodded. “She said she did at the old parties, so I just figured she could keep doing it.”  
  
“Is that how you know about the history of the  _Monster Mash?_ ” Emma asked. She probably shouldn’t have any candy. She was already bouncing from idea to idea and half-formed planned to potentially misplaced hope and her kid was still bright read with his arms crossed over his chest and his tongue darting nervously between his lips like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to leave.

Killian shook his head. “No,” he said softly, brushing his lips over her temple. “What did Gina want, Mary Margaret? And where is she?”

Emma tried not to actually explode.

It felt like she was going to explode.

Her heart definitely had already.

“God, will someone actually answer one of my questions?” she asked, but it came out a bit more like a growl and Henry actually stopped blushing long enough to stare at her with wide, slightly disbelieving eyes.

No one answered her for what felt like several eternities, or, at least long enough for David to appear out of nowhere, smiling and wearing his own dark-colored ensemble and he couldn’t really walk when there was a sword strapped to his hip.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” Emma demanded and David actually flinched, trying, and failing, to rest his hand on Henry’s shoulder.

It took, approximately, two seconds for him to recover, staring at her like she was sixteen and simply upset about the distinct lack of rocky road ice cream in the house. “We’re evil versions of Snow White and Prince Charming,” he said. “Obviously. It’s clever. Nice to see you’re sticking with the tried and true.”  
  
“I had to film all day and change in the backseat of a car. Forgive me for not putting more thought into a costume.”  
  
“I said nothing.”  
  
“You said words. Plus,” Emma added, leaning forward to tap her finger threateningly on the hilt of David’s sword. God, it wasn’t plastic. “I am part of a cliché couple costume this year, so, you know, whatever David.”  
  
“Can you call it cliché? Seems rude when the other half is standing right there. And Henry’s part of that cliché too, isn’t he?”  
  
David threw Henry a knowing look, shifting his eyebrows quickly and quirking his lips and Emma wasn’t sure it was possible for one person’s face to get that flushed. “It’s not really a couple’s costume,” Henry muttered, but Killian laughed again, pulling him against his side and everyone’s hair was a lost cause now.

Killian’s was definitely Emma’s fault.

And Henry was definitely part of a couple’s costume.

This whole night had already spiraled out of control and Emma hadn’t even gotten any alcohol yet. Or candy. She’d only made it halfway through the dining room.

“Mary Margaret,” Killian repeated and she nearly leapt to attention. Someone laughed. Ariel. Ariel laughed – loudly – on her way out of the kitchen with a bowl in one hand and a painfully adorable kid in the other and she was dressed like a fish.

There were scales on her dress and a fin on her back and if Emma wasn’t so goddamn distracted she probably would have been impressed by the dedication to  _required costumes_. The kid had a tail.

“Oh my God they’re sea creatures,” Emma muttered and Killian hummed in agreement. He might have also kissed her hair again.

Henry groaned.

“Hey,” Ariel said brightly, bobbing up slightly on her toes and nodding towards the bowl. “Candy? We’ve just got like...a ton of candy. Also, Killian, Regina was looking for you. She just got off the phone with Zelena.”

“If this is about tomorrow…” Killian warned, but Ariel was shaking her head before he’d even finished talking.

“It’s not. You guys are totally going to wreck.” She flashed a grin Henry’s direction, gaze darting towards his neck quickly and Emma squeezed her own eyes shut, silently asking every religious figure she could think of that she wouldn’t actually see what Ariel saw. “Anyway,” Ariel continued. “She’s had, like, five martinis already and she was on the warpath as soon as she hung up, so you know, prepare your souls or something.”  
  
“Consider me prepared.”  
  
“Yuh huh.”

“Enough, Ari.”  
  
“Oh my God, have you not…” Killian glared at her and Mary Margaret looked sympathetic, but David just looked like he wished he could be anywhere else, clicking his teeth anxiously and grimacing when Emma stared at him. “For real? You guys were making out. I saw it,” Ariel asked, seemingly undeterred, particularly when the entire Mills-Locksley family could be heard pushing their way through the crowd.

Roland was yelling. And draped over Will’s shoulders. One of them was, apparently, supposed to be Robin Hood because there was a quiver hanging off Will’s forearm.

“Whose arrows are those?’ Emma asked, muttering the question and Killian, somehow, managed to hear her. He smiled at her.

“Rol,” he grinned, moving the arm that had been seemingly cemented around her waist, up to her shoulders and Emma could only imagine what they looked like. He was still holding onto Henry too. “Apparently the matching, cliché costumes for familial groups were also part of the requirement.”  
  
“Did I miss that meeting?”  
  
“There was no meeting, Ari just announced it”

Ariel stuck her tongue out and Killian’s grin widened when the baby made noise, responding with nonsense syllables and faces that made Emma’s already exploding heart disintegrate. “Stop talking trash in front of Seb, that’s just rude,” Ariel muttered.

“I am not talking trash. I am merely presenting the facts as they happened. If you want Seb to grow up to be a model citizen, he’s got to learn that his mom just likes to demand things sometimes.” Ariel growled, but Killian just kept smiling, leaning forward slightly – and bringing Emma and Henry with him – to make faces in the nearly two-year-old’s eyeline. “Isn’t that right, Seb? Just blink if that’s right.”  
  
“You’re an idiot,” Ariel grumbled and there was a note of something that felt a bit like pride in her voice. She did, however, wince slightly when Roland screamed for Killian, practically leaping out of Will’s grasp and nearly kicking him in the head in the process.

He seemed ready, though, letting go of Henry long enough to brace himself for Roland Locksley’s entire weight and Emma’s eyes flickered towards Mary Margaret, some sort of impossible look on her face.

“What do you know, M’s?” Emma asked, tugging on the back of Roland’s shirt out of instinct. Maternal. Maybe.  _Jeez._

“Nothing,” Mary Margaret said quickly. Way too quickly. Exactly like a lie quickly. Ruby practically cackled in response.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

Ruby shrugged, holding her own cup – fancy plastic covered in goddamn pumpkins and ghosts and filled with, what appeared to be, Granny’s incredibly potent punch. “Glad to see Granny’s expanded to the rest of the boroughs,” Emma said, reaching out to grab the glass and Ruby glared at her.

“Hey, get your own,” she snapped. “How come you’re just, like, awkwardly standing here? Did stuff happen? Did I miss stuff?”

“Stop talking,” Ariel muttered and Mary Margaret kicked at Ruby’s heels.

“What?”  
  
“Stop.”  
  
“But….”  
  
“Oh my God,” Killian sighed, running his free hand through his hair. Henry rocked back on his heels, glancing towards the corner when his friends – and the other half of his matching costume – started calling his name. “Go,” Killian added. “Just you know…” He waved his hand in the general direction of Henry’s face. “Maybe cut back on that. A little.”  
  
Henry grimaced – David laughed. “Yuh huh. And, uh, you guys...maybe talk. About things. Stuff. Important things and stuff.”  
  
“Eloquent.”  
  
“Yeah, thanks, Killian.”  
  
He nodded, arm still around Emma’s shoulders and Henry was nothing more than a blur of costume and early-teenage hormones and Emma tried not to think about  _that_ for any longer than absolutely necessary.

So she’d probably think about it for the rest of the night.

“I hear you’ve been depleting my alcohol stock, Gina,” Killian continued and Regina looked like she wanted to throw her empty glass at him.

“Don’t do that,” Robin warned. Will sounded like he was mumbling deterrents under his breath as well, but it didn’t really matter when Killian and Regina were already in the middle of some kind of staredown.

Killian quirked an eyebrow. Regina just tilted her head. “Gina,” he continued. “Why’d Zelena call? And why are you five martinis in?”  
  
“Three,” she corrected softly, but with an undercurrent of intensity that seemed decidedly out of place. “I have only had three martinis and it wasn’t even top-shelf gin. Also, Scarlet skipped on olives. You should hire better employees.”  
  
“I’m standing right here,” Will muttered. That didn’t matter either.

Killian just kept standing there and Regina sighed, a noise Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever heard the producer make. Even Ruby was biting her lip.

“Oh,” Emma said and she wished realizations would stop hitting her like that. She felt like she was on the wrong side of drunk – and that seemed decidedly unfair without the getting to that part. “So, we’re like, a solid no on that, right?”

Regina and Ruby both nodded in tandem and it took Killian, approximately, five seconds and one slightly tighter hold on Emma’s shoulders to get up to speed. “Absolutely not,” he said and Regina rolled her whole head in response.

“Obviously,” she snapped. “Although it did take some convincing. Zelena thought it was a really good idea.”  
  
“She wanted a special series,” Ruby added. Emma’s knees were wobbling again. “It took some tag-teaming, but we got her off that idea. Told her the two of you looking miserable on camera probably wasn’t good for the numbers.”  
  
“What kind of special series?” Emma asked, not quite sure why she was still asking questions when even the idea of filming the lead-up to a wedding that still didn’t have a date made her nauseous.

“Once a week for, at least, a month, probably longer, in the road to the altar. Her words, not mine.” Ruby waved her hand in front of Emma. “Oh, look, she’s making the same face I said she would, Regina.”  
  
Regina hummed in agreement and Emma could almost hear the gears working in her head. “Zelena had a follow-up.”  
  
“Yeah,” Killian said. It wasn’t a question.

“She does want something together and you guys have kind of opened up a metaphorical can of worms by letting Henry on Halloween Wars.”  
  
“He wanted to.”  
  
“I’m not disagreeing with that, I’m just relaying. She thinks we can pump the family angle.”

“Yuh huh.”  
  
Regina’s eyes darted back towards Emma – like she was going to ask a question or for a rehash of the plan for filming, but she didn’t actually say anything and Emma would probably have to buy her several bottles of gin for that. “Set a date for your wedding,” she continued. There went those bottles of gin.

And straight into some metaphor that definitely had her feeling drunk and, maybe, willing to throw the order of the goddamn plan straight out the window.  
  
Metaphorically.

“Soon,” Emma said and the whole lot of them moved in tandem, wide eyes and open mouths and that was a bit more intimidating than she was expecting it to be. “Wow, did you guys practice that?”

Mary Margaret shook her head and Ruby actually looked close to tears, but she might have actually been drunk and Emma could feel Killian staring at her again. “Swan,” he said slowly and he couldn’t really turn on her when Roland was still hanging off him like a piece of playground equipment.

“I mean,” she started, pulse pounding in her ears or just between her ribs and shrugging in that situation was weird so, naturally, she did just that. “Maybe? I kind of…”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Was that a question?”  
  
“No, that was an affirmation.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“That was a question.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Ruby mumbled, but she stopped talking when Mary Margaret muttered something under her breath and Robin already had his phone out, talking about dates and venues he knew of and Emma cut him off before he could actually just start making phone calls.  
  
“The water,” she said. Robin put his phone away. “That’s…” She glanced quickly at Killian, staring at her like she was the center of the goddamn universe or several different incarnations of the sun. He nodded. “I mean, there’s water downtown, right? And we kind...well, Killian owns a restaurant. Two restaurants. We shouldn't have to pay for anything. Someone could get one of those things off the internet.”  
  
“One of those things off the internet,” Will repeated skeptically and Emma shrugged again. “I’ll do it.”  
  
“What?” Killian asked.

“It’d probably take like five minutes, right Emma?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never tried to get ordained on the internet.”  
  
Will hummed, like that was an acceptable answer, but Robin had his phone out again, fingers flying across the screen and Emma wasn’t entirely surprised when Killian’s hand moved down her back. Again.

“You know it’s, like, insanely easy to get married at Battery Park,” Robin said. “That’s close to the restaurant.”  
  
“Efficient,” David mused, flashing a knowing smile at Emma. He probably knew the plan.

It did, actually, only take a six minutes to get Will ordained on the internet – on Robin’s phone and with a surplus of not-quite-top-shelf gin and Granny’s punch and they decided soon actually meant  _soon_ and even a few months seemed like not soon enough.

A fact Killian managed to point out no less than eight different times over the course of the night until Emma’s face was as red as Henry’s had been and she’d giggled more in a few hours than she had in her entire life.

“You’re still blushing,” Killian said, hours later and his steps weren’t quite as even when he walked into the bedroom.

Emma grinned, propping her head up on her hand and she appreciated whatever his eyes did when the blanket fell away from her shoulder. “How much punch did you have?”  
  
“Did you know that there’s grenadine in there? It’s basically a glorified Shirley Temple.”  
  
“Are your bartender senses tingling?”

His eyes widened again and Emma tried to move her eyebrows, but she was absolutely drunk and it didn’t really work. Killian took another step forward, the mattress dipping when he all but fell onto his side of the bed, but he barely waited a moment before tugging Emma to him and if the making out in semi-public places before had been  _something_ then the making out in the middle of their bed in their bedroom in their apartment was something else all together.

He groaned when her leg hitched over his, trying to stay balanced on her side and Emma couldn’t smile when her lips were otherwise occupied. She tried anyway. And that was fun.

Killian sighed, eyes fluttering closed and Emma suddenly realized how long his goddamn eyelashes were. “What was that, love?” he asked, a note of laughter in his voice and, shit, she’d said that out loud.

“Your eyelashes are stupid.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You heard me.”  
  
He kissed her instead of answering. Emma didn’t argue. Well, not really. She just told him to take his clothes off.

She tried to catch her breath, some indeterminate amount of time later, staring at the ceiling and she could still feel the flush in her cheeks and moving down while Killian kept tracing out patterns across her collarbone.

“Are you trying to map me, Lieutenant?” Emma asked, whining slightly in the back of her throat when he dropped his head to her neck. “God, you can’t do that.”

Emma pushed against his shoulder, but it was no use. Ruby was going to kill her the next day. She didn’t want to think about Ruby. There was a plan.

She didn’t get to her plan.

“You want to buy a restaurant?” Killian asked suddenly, pulling away from her skin and she couldn’t really think when he looked at her like that.

“What?”

“Well, no, that’s not really what I mean, but that’s what they were talking about before. I have no idea how everyone figured out, but I guess it’s my fault for telling Locksley. Only seemed fair to let him know.”  
  
“You’re speaking in tongues.”

Killian grinned at her, that stupid, lopsided look that made Emma’s heart sputter and do several medically impossible things and she understood quickly – again. She must have gasped because Killian moved again, pulling himself down until he was eye level with her and her heart sped up.

“I love you,” he said and her heart beat out of her chest, burst into fireworks and rainbows and then dropped major relationship moment confetti over them.

“Yeah.”  
  
“Was that supposed to be a question?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Killian blinked twice, the ends of his mouth twitching like he was trying to stop himself from kissing her again or actually mapping out the freckles on her skin. He didn’t do either, just reached out slowly, brushing the tip of his fingers across her jaw and Emma’s heart retreated into her chest, desperately trying to keep her breathing even.

It didn’t work.

“I love you too,” Emma whispered. “Should have led with that.”  
  
“I got the idea.”  
  
She hummed softly, tugging her lip in between her teeth and she wasn’t quite so worried with extra makeup on her neck or even her own half-formed plan when he was still shirtless and staring at her with the kind of hope she thought only existed in dreams. “You’re sure?” Emma asked.

“About wanting to make you an actual partner in my restaurant instead of just a very good sauce chef and sauce packer?”  
  
“Don’t forget sauce hawker at network-sponsored events.”  
  
“That too.” Emma laughed softly, but it still wasn’t an answer and she couldn’t ever tell Mary Margaret any of this happened. She’d never hear the end of  _fairy tales_ and  _romance_ and it was such a far cry from the very first Halloween party with Killian, that it was early enough to make her head spin.

Killian moved his hand again, twisting his fingers through her hair and he did kiss her that time, mumbling the words against her lips. “I’m sure, Emma,” he said. “And, really, we should have before. Gowanus is there because of you and all of this is there because of you and if we’re going to do soon, then, yeah, I want that. A lot.

There’s a ridiculous amount of paperwork, but your name will be on all of it and you’ll be a partner and there’ll be profit, hopefully, at least, but if anything happened, then Henry would have some stock...at least biologically or something. I was only kind of half listening to that part of the explanation.”  
  
She kissed him that time, nearly laughing when he made  _that_ noise, shoulders pressed into the mattress and neither one of them was wearing enough clothes for this to  _not_ continue down a very specific type of path.

“Regina’s going to kill you, you’re going to have bags,” Emma mumbled later, tucked tightly against Killian’s side and she was so warm, some kind of comfortable fire settling into the pit of her stomach that she was fairly positive would just like forever.

Particularly after they got to  _soon._

Killian made a noise in the back of his throat, pressing another kiss to the top of her hair. “She can cope. She’s going to be hungover anyway.”  
  
“I can’t imagine that.”  
  
“Ah, yeah, me either really, but that would put us on slightly more even footing.”  
  
“You guys are going to win.”  
  
“You sound awfully sure.”  
  
“Confident, there’s a difference.” She wasn’t sure he’d realize, the words echoing in the room, memories of cooking competitions and moments in the Jolly and, now, the future laid out their feet, so  _of course_ he realized – arching an eyebrow when she glanced up at him and one of them moved and neither one of them really slept and both of those things didn’t really matter when there was a  _we_ now.


	2. Chapter 2

“You know, I don’t think I really even like pumpkin.”  
  
Killian glanced over his shoulder, twisting his eyebrows slightly and Henry made a face, shrugging like he was admitting to something particularly horrible. “I don’t think that’s a prerequisite,” Killian said. “And stop eating all the stuff, we won’t actually be able to bake.”

Henry’s face didn’t change, just seemed to settle even more into _teenager_ and Killian tried not to sigh too dramatically, reaching out to tug the bag of candy corn out of the kid’s hands.

Regina had been furious with both of them as soon as they’d gotten to the studio that morning, a mix of bags under their eyes and a visible lack of sleep and that one mark on Henry’s jaw and Killian was trying very hard not to think about that.

He was not equipped to deal with that.

At least not just a few hours removed from asking Emma to be a partner in his restaurant and his own verbal dressdown from Regina regarding the state of his own neck.

He didn’t say that out loud.

That probably would have ruined everyone’s day – and made it very difficult to win Halloween Wars. Or whatever it was called. It was some special offshoot of Halloween Wars and it required a baking assistant and Killian hadn’t really had much of a choice in filming, but he got to pick his assistant and Henry wasn’t really so much an assistant as a constantly-eating machine and they both really wanted to win.

Killian didn’t really like pumpkin that much either.

“I’m not eating it,” Henry argued, rolling his eyes when Killian lifted his eyebrows again. God, candy corn was disgusting. “I am...testing it. To make sure it’s good. Or something.”  
  
“Or something.”

“You think this is cheating?”  
  
Killian hummed, grabbing another handful of candy corn. It didn’t even taste like anything, just made his jaw ache from having to chew so much. They were absolutely cheating and they probably weren’t supposed to be in the studio yet, but if he spent one more second in that hair and makeup chair he was going to go absolutely insane.

“It’s definitely cheating,” he agreed, holding the bag back towards Henry who sneered at the idea of more candy corn. Killian laughed, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “How’d we end up on the pumpkin thing when you were gorging yourself on disgusting knockoff candy?”  
  
Henry rolled his eyes – and it was so _Emma_ , Killian had to push his heels into the ground, trying not to do something stupid like say that out loud or mention that maybe he’d been thinking certain things since _the dad incident_.

They hadn’t actually talked about it, far too preoccupied with an engagement and announcing said engagement and they’d stayed at The Jolly far too late the night after, several empty bottles of champagne littering the bar by the time everyone was finished toasting their happiness.

And it was perfect.

It was.

Honestly.

He was so goddamn happy it sometimes still struck him as strange and just a bit unbelievable, but then Emma would roll over in bed or make french toast on Sunday mornings or Killian would ask Henry to be some kind of baking assistant on a nationally broadcast TV show and reality seemed to sink in all over again.

And _soon_ was soon and there’d be more paperwork and joint tax filings and a legal partnership that would, presumably, bring in a steady profit because expanding a restaurant had been terrifying, but it was working out pretty damn well.

“Why do you look like that?” Henry asked sharply and in addition to the sudden foray into occasional teenage angst, he also seemed to have gotten even more perceptive. Which was saying something.

Killian ate more candy corn. “What? Was that about the pumpkin?”  
  
“No. But, seriously, do you think pumpkin will be like...an actual requirement because Halloween is in the title? Regina was saying something about required ingredients.”  
  
“Why do you know that?”  
  
“That’s not an answer to what I asked.”  
  
“I asked you first,” Killian argued and it was immature and just a bit exhausted because he hadn’t really slept the night before, but he absolutely could _not_ say that out loud. They’d probably already scared Henry enough with the making out across several different boroughs.

Although Henry really did have a questionable amount of foundation on his neck.

Henry stuck his tongue out, lunging around Killian to grab the candy corn and nearly growling when he came up short. “Nuh uh,” Killian muttered. “Answers and then we can piss off Locksley by eating all of this disgusting candy.”  
  
“Wait, what?”  
  
“He stocked this set. Two days ago.”  
  
“Oh, c’mon! So you know whether or not there’s pumpkin here!”  
  
Killian twisted his eyebrows again, flashing a smile Henry’s direction and maybe he’d kind of, sort of bribed Locksley just a bit – promised to watch Roland for, at least, a weekend and then casually reminded him that he’d served as a character witness and _was the best best man you could ask for, my speech wasn’t even embarrassing_.

And Robin was quick to point out that he hadn’t actually made a speech, but he’d agreed and mentioned something about pumpkin and requirements and _if you tell Gina I told you this, I will kill you on Halloween in cold blood_ and Killian muttered _spooky_ under his breath while Will cackled from the other side of the bar.

“I asked some questions,” Killian shrugged and Henry made another noise when he stuffed what must have been his sixth handful of candy corn into his mouth. “It’s disgusting, right?”  
  
Henry mumbled something, rolling his eyes again. “Do you think candy corn goes with required pumpkin ingredients?”  
  
“I think pumpkin and candy corn are blatantly obvious and will get us cut in the first round.”  
  
“Whoa, harsh.”  
  
“Don’t you want to win?”  
  
“Well, yeah, obviously, but I’ve…”  
  
He cut himself off, nearly snapping his jaw shut with the effort not to say another word and Killian’s eyebrows were going to suffer permanent damage if he just kept moving them like that. “What?” he asked slowly and they’d eaten all the goddamn candy corn.

Regina and Robin were going to team up and kill them right there together in the middle of the set. Probably in between the several different shelves of pumpkin-based ingredients.

“Nothing,” Henry said quickly, suddenly far more interested in the tiled floor than anything else. Killian nodded, twisting his lips slightly and narrowing his eyes and Henry hissed when he stepped lightly on the toe of his sneaker.

“You are an even worse liar than your mom and Mary Margaret combined.”  
  
“Low blow.”  
  
“Honest,” Killian promised and Henry rolled his whole head that time, his sigh heavy enough that even his shoulders joined the movement. “What do you know?”  
  
“What do you know?”

Killian tried not to groan in frustration, certain that would affect the baking and he really did want to win, if only because Regina keep pointing out that he _lost the last baking thing and this is some kind of chance to impress your entire family_ and maybe he was the terrible liar.

Something was going on.

He’d known it last night, as soon as Emma walked into the restaurant, was determined to get some kind of answer out of her, but he’d been distracted by crowns and dates and plans and he’d had his own questions.

He was a selfish bastard.

Who was so goddamn happy he couldn’t see straight and somehow, still, managed to want even more.

He kept thinking about _the dad incident_. Emma probably knew that.

“Come on,” Henry sighed, but it came out more like a whine and there were people on set now, opening doors and sitting behind cameras. Killian blinked when the lights overhead flared on, chuckling under his breath when Henry let out a string of curses at the sudden shift in in-kitchen brightness.

That probably wasn’t responsible.

Or paternal? Almost? Maybe eventually. Hopefully.

Ah, shit.

He was a mess.

“You’re doing that thing with your face again,” Henry pointed out, crossing his own arms and rocking back on his heels.

“It’s because Gina’s going to murder us for eating all this garbage candy. And don’t swear. We’ve got to be on TV soon.”  
  
“I know not to swear on TV.”  
  
“Eh….”  
  
“I do!”  
  
Killian grinned, reaching out to rest his hand on Henry’s shoulder and he didn’t really expect him to try and push it off, but he was still pleasantly surprised when it all played out exactly the way he figured it would. Henry didn’t even groan. “Yeah, well, you already ticked off several teenage boxes last night, so I just figured I’d rehash the rules,” Killian said, squeezing Henry’s shoulder for emphasis and _that_ did manage to work a groan out of him.  
  
“Ah, come on,” he sighed, but his cheeks had gone slightly red and he was staring at the ground again. Killian tried not to laugh too hard. “And,” Henry added. “Mom was already all over that this morning. That’s why I figured…some kind of tag team or something...”  
  
He stopped talking again, grimacing when it appeared he realized he was dangerously close to admitting something and Killian could feel the frustration rush down his spine, lingering in the pit of his stomach like some kind of actual weight.

“This is the least productive conversation in the history of the world,” Killian muttered, drawing a laugh out of Henry and he finally looked up when he heard heels walking – marching – towards them.

Regina was already hissing something that sounded almost startlingly like the string of curses Henry had let out before and they all spent far too much time together. Henry was still blushing when he twisted, using Killian as leverage to press up on his toes and he winced when he glanced Regina’s direction.

“She looks mad,” Henry warned and Killian nodded in understanding.

“It’s because you ate all the candy corn.”  
  
“How would she even know about that? And you ate a bunch of candy corn too!”  
  
“She’s got a sixth sense. Or possibly dark magic.”  
  
Henry doubled over with the force of his laughter and Regina’s eyes were already narrow by the time she stopped in front of them, blazer just a bit tighter than normal when she crossed her arms and glared at both of them.

“Is this the part where I point out that you are the adult in this situation, Jones?” Regina hissed and Killian widened his eyes meaningfully. “Did you talk to your girlfriend last night?”  
  
The weight of his frustration shifted slightly, morphing into a flash of actual anger and maybe he could just stress bake while also dancing around several different subjects and whatever the fourteen-year-old kid standing next to him absolutely knew.

“No,” Henry answered, just a bit petulantly, and Killian held up his hands in confusion.

“I’m standing right here,” he muttered. “And Emma’s my fiancée, not my girlfriend.”

Regina didn’t seem to care about the specifics of it. “You should really talk to her. Did you even ask her…”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Wait, what?” Henry asked, confusion obvious in the words when he practically shouted them in Killian’s face. “For real?”

Killian tilted his head, eyes flashing towards Regina who appeared just as impatient as ever, tapping her foot lightly and they were probably behind schedule. “The whole lot of you gossip far too much,” he accused. “And, yes, to answer your question. Even if you aren’t answering mine.”  
  
“The adult,” Regina repeated, mumbling the words slightly like she was trying to make sure only Killian heard them and she knew something too.

God damnit.

He was absolutely going to stress bake.

“What are you alluding to, Gina?” he asked, slinging an arm around Henry’s shoulders and that was easier said than done when the kid was already bobbing on his feet and talking about paperwork and plans and Killian was only really listening to half of it.

That probably wasn’t very parental either.

He needed to get a grip.

On like...a spatula or something. God, he didn’t want to cook with pumpkin.

“I am alluding to absolutely nothing because I’m, at least, ninety-nine percent positive we aren’t talking about the same thing,” Regina answered. Henry stopped talking immediately. “You’d look different if we were.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Regina clicked her tongue. “See, that’s what I thought. What were you talking about then?”  
  
“I honestly have no idea what you’re asking me.”  
  
“About The Jolly. Obviously.”  
  
“Oh, right, right, obviously,” Killian grumbled, arm still around Henry whose face appeared to be stuck somewhere between concerned and overjoyed. “What’s going on with your face now, kid?”  
  
He hadn’t meant to use _that nickname_ , but it had just kind of fallen out of him and he’d gotten so used to Emma saying it and, well, half his mind was already there and something else about _all of his heart_ , but that seemed decidedly sentimental and Killian had already eaten enough candy corn that he felt just a bit nauseous in the middle of the studio.

That might have been because of the lights.

Henry smiled – or tried to smile, but it stilled looked a bit cautious and maybe just a bit hopeful and there was no way they were going to film on time. There weren’t even judges there yet. And Killian had no idea who they were even supposed to bake against.

“Did you really ask Mom about The Jolly?” Henry asked, voice just a bit breathless when he leaned back to stare at Killian expectantly.

He nodded. “Yeah, last night.”  
  
“And that’s….that went ok?”  
  
“Better.” Henry groaned, throwing his head back and they would have to find more foundation. “God, damn it, that’s not even remotely what I meant,” Killian sighed, running his free hand through his hair and glaring at Regina who, he decided rather suddenly, was at fault for all of this.

She smiled at him. “You need to get your shit together, Jones,” she said, expression staying exactly the same even when Killian scowled at her. “I’m serious. And tell your fiancée that you two should be a bit more focused when it comes to conversations because if this all blows up on camera, I’m going to kill both of you.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Happy Halloween!”  
  
Killian was half a second away from shouting _what_ again, but he was distracted when the door to the studio swung open and there were more footsteps and a flash of green and _God_ she was wearing red.

Again.

“I think you’re blushing now,” Henry muttered, elbowing Killian in the side.

Emma grinned at them, taking a step towards the space they’d just kind of claimed as their station and her eyes seemed to get even brighter when she noticed the empty bag still sitting on the counter.

“Robin’s going to be pissed if you guys ate all the candy corn,” she said, letting her hand fall on Killian’s chest like it was instinct and maybe he wouldn’t stress bake.

Maybe he’d just bake.

And try and impress his entire family because the last time he’d been on some kind of baking-themed show he’d fucked it up on purpose and he really wanted to impress a kid he desperately wanted to keep staring at him like some sort of father figure.

“No one wants to bake with those, Mom,” Henry said, sounding like an accredited source on the pros and cons of candy corn.

Emma’s lips quirked and she made a noise in the back of her throat, glancing quickly at Killian and it must have been a thousand degrees on that set. At least. It felt like it. That might have been because of the dress.

“What are you doing here, Swan?” Killian asked. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, doing his best to control his breathing, but he couldn't ever seem to do that when his eyes fell towards the ring on her finger.

That happened...just a questionable number of times a day.

Henry was laughing again.

“I’m working,” Emma said, shrugging as if that were the obvious response.

Killian wasn’t sure who to look at. God, he and Regina were probably going to have to stage some kind of battle to death in the storage room at The Jolly or something. He was positive this was her fault.

She knew everything.

“What?” he asked and Henry’s laugh wasn’t so much a laugh as it was just a very loud _sound_ , bouncing off the walls of the studio when he started waving at Elsa and the camera she was testing.

Emma grinned even wider – a flash of green eyes and that dress and this all felt like cheating. Again. He should not have eaten so much candy corn. “Did no one tell you?” she asked. “I was sure someone was going to tell you.”  
  
“I really have no idea what’s going on.”

“Weird. Huh.”  
  
“Swan, that’s not an actual answer, love.”  
  
Henry made some brand-new noise, something that sounded a bit like a gag and his tongue was halfway out of his mouth, Elsa’s not-so-quiet laughter working its way into Killian’s ears while she probably filmed the whole thing.

“You know what, kid...” Emma said, turning towards Henry whose eyes widened slightly when he was addressed by that nickname by a different parental figure. Killian’s stomach was on the ground. He was certain.

He was never going to be able to bake.

He’d probably lose the kill-off to Regina. That was disappointing.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Henry muttered, but there was a note of something else just on the edge of his voice, like he wasn’t all that frustrated at the idea of moving to the other side of the studio for, at least, a few minutes. “Killian if we bake with pumpkin, I’m going to be super annoyed.”  
  
Killian scoffed slightly, letting his arm fall back to his side when Henry twisted out from underneath him. “We can use actual candy. Good candy. Not that garbage kind.”  
  
“That you ate.”  
  
“Only to save you from gorging yourself.”  
  
“Rude.”  
  
“Henry,” Emma cut in and he sighed dramatically, even with the smile still plastered on his face.

“Right, right,” Henry said. “You guys should...talk. You know. Stuff. Talking stuff. Adult stuff. Parent stuff.”  
  
“Oh my God, Henry.”  
  
“Stuff,” he shouted again, flashing a smile at Emma and it would be some kind of miracle any of them got on camera when they were all so busy blushing about conversations they weren’t actually having.

Henry was gone half a moment later, yelling to Elsa about helping fix her white balance and someone groaned somewhere. “That was probably Locksley,” Killian muttered, moving both his hands rest on Emma’s hips when she turned towards him. “He’s definitely going to be pissed when he realizes we ate all his candy corn.”  
  
“Is candy corn even good?” Emma asked. She took a step towards him and something in the very center of him seemed to respond to that – always had and probably always would and maybe they could blow off Halloween Baking Championship Wars, _whatever_ , if it meant _soon_ was actually that afternoon.

“No, not at all,” he answered. “Candy corn is a garbage candy that shouldn’t even have the word candy in its name and no one should be forced to bake with it.”  
  
“Do you feel like you’re being forced to bake then?”  
  
“Not really, but I am getting dragged from conversation to conversation without much of an explanation.”  
  
Emma’s eyes widened for a moment, a flash of something that looked a hell of a lot like worry on her face, but it was gone as quickly as it came and Killian wasn’t entirely certain he hadn’t just imagined it. Trick or treat or something. “What are you doing here, Swan?” he asked again.

“I answered that. I’m working.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“I wouldn’t sit in hair and makeup just to watch you bake when I can do that at home, you know.”  
  
Oh, he was an idiot. A totally distracted, vaguely needy, entirely selfish idiot. And he was probably going to trip over himself, at least, sixteen times if he thought what was happening was actually about to happen.

Emma laughed softly, resting both her hands flat against his shirt and he hadn’t actually put on an apron yet. Or a jacket. He had no idea what the rules were on Halloween Wars. He’d been ignoring Regina completely.

“It was a compromise of sorts,” Emma explained. “Last night. Before we got home.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re not very loquacious when you’re hopped up on sugar, are you?”  
  
Killian felt the smile before he’d even really decided to smile and the ridiculously bright lights in the studio seemed to make Emma’s ring sparkle even more. Sentimental idiot. “Good word,” he mumbled, ducking his head to kiss her jaw and she didn’t really try to push him away. He’d probably think about the entire time they filmed.

“They were supposed to have a different judge,” Emma continued and his smile widened when he heard the way her voice caught just a bit on the words. “But...uh, they were sick or called in or decided they didn’t want to be here this early and you were trying to teach Rol and Henry how to shoot arrows and Zelena called Regina again and….God, you can’t do that.”  
  
He’d moved his head again, trailing his lips down her neck and Ruby would probably get in on whatever murder-themed Fight Club he’d come up with in his head if Emma had to fix her makeup before they started filming.

Whenever they started filming.

“And you just volunteered?” Killian asked, not bothering to pull his mouth away from her. She hummed or maybe just tried to breathe and he was, suddenly, feeling very confident about his chances and his ability bake.

“I told you...it was a compromise. I said I’d judge and Zelena could play up the family angle and we’d all be on TV and then they’d...you know.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Leave _soon_ alone. Completely. Without argument. Well, at least not a ton of argument.”

Killian, finally, moved, staring at her like he’d just rediscovered his center of gravity and it was focused on her and there was some kind of _sun_ pun to be made there, but he wasn’t entirely sure how gravity really worked, so he just kept staring at his fiancée and wondering if soon could be like...next week.  
  
He loved her an absolutely ridiculous amount.

Emma smiled, just a bit more cautious than it had been before and that might have been because Regina had started shouting filming orders or maybe because Killian was still staring at her, but he didn’t really think about either of those things before he moved and caught her lips with his and they’d both have to fix their makeup.

He could feel her fingers brush across the back of his neck and he wrapped his arm around her waist, trying to pull her into the same space he was standing in and he would have been content to work on that particular challenge for the rest of the day, but there was a teenager somewhere nearby and if hopes and plans were ever going to become actual actions, then they should probably work on not scaring him for life.

And Regina was swearing at him. Again.

“That was distracting,” Emma mumbled and he couldn’t quite hold back his laugh.

“You’re wearing that dress and about to eat baked goods on camera, love. You can’t tell me that you’re the one distracted.”

She lifted her eyebrows, leaning back slightly and maybe he made some kind of noise in the back of his throat when she moved. “Are you telling me you’re preoccupied, Lieutenant?”  
  
“Cheating, Swan. Decidedly.”  
  
“Maybe I’ve got, like, three quarters of a plan.”  
  
“For?”  
  
“Something.”  
  
“Look who’s not talking now.”

“That’s because we’re incredibly behind schedule and Regina actually looks like she’s trying to turn you to stone with her mind or, like, shoot fire out of her hands.”  
  
“That second one actually sounds kind of impressive, actually.”  
  
“I can hear you,” Regina pointed out, only a slightly appropriate distance away and she’d started tapping her foot again. Killian didn’t move. And Emma was biting her lips now, the plan almost obvious in the way she met his gaze – a mix of hope and want and _soon_ that Killian was fairly certain had just become his normal state of being in the last few weeks.

“So,” Killian continued, ignoring his producer and her, likely, very expensive heels completely. “Yesterday when you were so certain we were going to win, was that some kind of pre-judging promise?”

Emma shook her head – or tried to, at least, while it was still resting against his shoulder and his arm was still around her waist and Regina had stopped tapping her toe long enough to walk towards them. “No, no,” Emma said. “That was just generic confidence.”  
  
“Seems suspicious.”  
  
“Don’t make anything with pumpkin in it, I won’t eat that.”  
  
“Insider trading.”  
  
“That didn’t even make any sense.”  
  
“That’s because I’m distracted.”

Regina groaned loudly, staring at Killian with something that felt a bit like irritation when Henry sprinted back across the studio, skidding to a stop and drooping over the edge of the counter. “This is gross in real life, but play up that banter while we film,” she said and _that_ sounded a hell of a lot a like a command. “The internet will go nuts for that. And, then, you know, maybe go somewhere else for that plan. Just a suggestion.”  
  
Emma blanched, mouth dropping open slightly and Henry hissed, staring at the ground again while Killian tried to ignore the whiplash of being pulled from another conversation. “How do you know?” Emma asked and she was still holding onto his shirt.

“Rol asked Henry. Something about his birthday and plans and we ended up there and he mentioned it. I’m fairly certain I’m the only one who knows.”  
  
“Nah, Mary Margaret definitely knows. She’s probably told David too. I’m sure they’ve been waiting by the phone with baited breath since they got home last night.”  
  
Regina almost smiled. Almost. And that would have been some kind of week-before-Halloween miracle since they were, at least, half an hour behind schedule and she knew far more than she was supposed to.

Killian was still very confused.

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense,” Regina mused, lips tilting up when she reached forward to brush Henry’s hair away from his eyes. “I kind of thought yesterday…”  
  
Emma shook her head. “Change of plans. Or a distraction or whatever.”  
  
“Right, right, well, welcome aboard or something less horrible than an actual nautical pun. Shut up, Jones.”

Killian tried to stop whatever noise he was making, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever been that confused in his entire life and Regina had made a nautical pun, so he couldn’t really be held accountable for his actions. “Can we bake now?” he asked, fairly certain Emma could hear that hint of desperation in his voice.

And the sooner they baked, the sooner he got answers. Hopefully.

“Em,” Elsa shouted, making her jump slightly and her dress caught slightly underneath Killian’s hand. “We need to mic you up.”  
  
Emma nodded, shoulders moving just a bit quicker than normal. “Yeah, yeah, sure, of course. I’ll, uh...no pumpkin.”  
She pressed a kiss to Killian’s cheek and brushed her lips over Henry’s forehead, flashing a smile at both of them when she moved towards the judging table and it was a testament to how absolutely distracted he was that he hadn’t actually noticed that table before.

“So no pumpkin then?” Henry asked, elbowing Killian again and jerking him back to reality and he’d never wanted to win anything more in his life.

“No pumpkin,” he agreed.

The great _teach Henry how to use the oven_ idea had kind of taken on a life of its own since Killian had moved into the apartment three blocks downtown, but it all seemed to be coming to some sort of head right there in the studio kitchen.

The challenge was simple – bake something disgusting and delicious. And Henry had jumped into whatever metaphorical driver’s seat made the most sense in that particular situation, turning to Killian as soon as the timer started and announcing _we’re going to make worms in dirt cupcakes_ and, well, that was that.

“How did you come up with this?” Killian asked, stirring a chocolate batter he was positive he could make in his sleep at this point.

Henry shrugged, pounding a bag of Oreos with just a bit more force than necessary. Killian narrowed his eyes and waited – not quite patiently. It took, exactly, three deep breaths, six complete stirs and one nod towards the cupcake tin before Henry answered.

“Mom,” he said eventually, like that explained everything and it did. “I was...I don’t know, it was before the show. But we were living downtown and I was supposed to bring something for school for Halloween and she made those. I think that was the first time I realized she was…”  
  
“What?”

“I don’t know...that she was cool?”  
  
“Was that supposed to be a question?”  
  
“Nah,” Henry mumbled, grabbing the bowl from Killian when realized he was supposed to be pouring batter into cupcake wrappers and even those were Halloween-themed. Robin must have bought out an entire party story wholesale the week before.

“Good,” Killian said. “You know what might not be a bad idea?” Henry shook his head slowly, lower lip jutted out slightly and Killian tried to push back whatever wave of emotion he was drowning in. “More chocolate.”  
  
Henry’s smile took up three quarters of his face, eyes wide and laugh even louder than it had been before and Killian could feel Emma staring at both of them. “You two look a little distracted over there,” she shouted, half standing with her forearms resting on the judging table.

“Not distracted, love,” Killian argued, dimly aware of someone’s producer groaning at the on-air endearment. “Trying to fine-tune.”  
  
“Seems like an awfully slim distinction with all the talking going on over there.”  
  
“Mom, you started it,” Henry added, opening the oven without prompting and that wave of emotion Killian was still barely treading through was absolutely pride.

Emma made a face, mouth slightly twisted and there were, probably, other judges on the show, but he didn’t really care, so long as they made cupcakes with a questionable amount of chocolate in them and she ate all of them.

“You know, I think you’re just painfully curious what we’re baking, Swan,” Killian added, muttering _go see if there’s pudding in the back_ to Henry.

And they should probably be focusing more on track and field instead of soccer because Henry was some kind of speed demon when the prospect of flirting was on the imminent horizon.

“Where did you send him?” Emma asked, barely even using the chair anymore and Killian was moving before he thought better of it, some kind of relationship-type magnet that he’d blame if and when he was inevitably asked why he left his station in the middle of a round.

“You’re looking for answers before we get to the judging part of this contest,” he said. Elsa had her camera pointed at them.

“No, I’m looking for answers as to where our…” She cut herself off, face doing the same exact thing Henry’s had less than a full hour before and Killian shouldn’t have ever left his station. It was suddenly difficult to stay standing up.

It’d probably look bad if he just collapsed on the judging table.

The other judges probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

“There is some kind of pantry in the back corner that Locksley mentioned two days ago,” Killian said, doing his best to will his pulse back into a normal human level.

“Cheater, cheater pumpkin eater.”  
  
“The exact opposite of that actually,” he grinned. “I was reliably informed not to include pumpkin in any award-winning cupcake recipes.”  
  
“Award-winning, huh?”  
  
“Ah, well, popular enough that it was the first thing Henry thought of in disgusting and delicious.”

Henry nearly crashed into both of them when he sprinted back towards them, waving a hand through the air when Killian and Emma each reached up to steady him. He used the judge’s table instead. “I’ve got it,” he panted slightly and Killian flashed Emma a knowing smile.

“Get ready to be impressed, love,” he said. Regina and Ruby both made noise when he kissed her. On camera. With a teenager on his side. Holding chocolate pudding. And making his mom’s cupcake recipe.

“Go,” Emma muttered, pushing on his shoulder slightly and Killian wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or Henry and it didn’t really matter because they were running out of time.

“I love you.”  
  
He hadn’t been planning on saying it, hadn’t been planning on _emotional cupcakes_ , but Henry was already ripping open packaging and that stupid clock was absurdly loud and she’d offered to be a judge on a theme show just so Zelena wouldn’t spend the next six months talking about getting them on camera for the ratings.

Emma smiled, the movement easing across her face like she was settling into her happiness and she’d used the word _our_. “You better hope that wasn’t on camera,” she muttered, thumb brushing across the curve of his jaw.

“Too late,” Ruby shouted from somewhere, only to be immediately _shushed_ by Elsa.

“And I love you too,” Emma added. She kissed him again. Or he kissed her. And both of those things were on camera, Henry mixing chocolate pudding without even being given any instructions a few feet away.

“You know, I’d be cool with it,” Henry said, a few minutes later. He’d actually made the entire box of pudding. “And this is like...cupcake filler, right?”  
  
“Filling, yeah,” Killian corrected and his mind was running in eighteen different directions. “Your mom…”  
  
“Likes chocolate, yeah, I got that part. You should put cinnamon on top of the frosting too. Just, you know, if we’re going for a whole thing.”  
  
“What kind of thing would we be going for, exactly?”  
  
Henry made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat. “Just, you know, stuff. I’d be cool with it. And, well, you.”  
  
“Me?”  
  
“Yuh huh.”  
  
“You’re not be exactly forthcoming.”  
  
“And you’re freaking out. You get all wordy when you do that.”

“What?” Killian asked, but the nerves were back and there were only a few minutes left before that stupid clock hit zeroes and if he lost in the first round again, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to show his face on national TV again.

That probably would help those profit margins he’d mentioned the night before.

He was on a romance roll.

“The right vocabulary word is verbose,” Henry continued, the smile on his face just bordering close to teasing. “You get verbose when you’re freaking out. Like you’re trying to prove something. It’s ok. I mean it’s...it’d be kind of cool.”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
Henry was still smiling. “Yeah, I know. I really thought Mom would say something last night, but you did that whole thing with The Jolly, so I guess that’s something.”  
  
“Right, right.”  
  
They, somehow, managed to get the filling into the cupcakes and get the cinnamon on top of the frosting and there were gummy worms and Oreos and Tink probably would have hated it because the whole thing was just some kind of excuse to eat an obscene amount of chocolate, but Killian was really only concerned with one judge and Emma might have actually gasped when they put the plate down in front of her.

And they made it through the first round.

“We’re taking fifteen,” Regina announced, appearing in the middle of set suddenly and Killian muttered _teleporting witch_ under his breath. She smacked at his shoulder. “C’mon, Henry,” she added, tugging on shirtsleeves when Emma still hadn’t moved away from the judging table. “Let’s uh...there’s food.”  
  
Henry nodded once, but only after grabbing half a cupcake off Emma’s plate and that seemed to wake her up just a bit. “You alright, love?” Killian asked, taking a cautious step towards her. She’d started nodding before he even got all the words out.

“Did Henry come up with this?”

Killian licked his lips, sinking onto the edge of the table and crossing his feet at the ankles. “Almost immediately. And made that filling without a single instruction.”  
  
“Jeez.”  
  
“How are they?”  
  
“Didn’t you try them?”  
  
“I was a bit preoccupied,” he said, leaning forward to drag the small plate closer to his leg. Emma rolled her eyes. “Some might even go so far as to say distracted.”  
  
“You know us making out on camera is probably going to lead the commercials. If this thing does well, Zelena’s not going to be happy we’ve backed out of the Swan-Jones televised wedding extravaganza.”  
  
“God, is that what she’s calling it?”  
  
“Nah,” she shook her head. “That’s what Ruby’s calling it and Scarlet thought it was hysterical. You really missed a lot when you were being painfully adorable last night.”  
  
Killian arched an eyebrow and it wasn’t easy to eat pudding-filled cupcakes without utensils. Emma had eaten most of it already. “You ever going to tell me what you’re thinking, Swan?”

“I probably should have done it yesterday if we’re being honest.”  
  
“Henry seemed stunned that you hadn’t.”  
  
She sighed, slumping forward in her chair and resting her chin on her hand. “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me at all. He was incredibly excited. He’ll probably get the whole thing to work just on the force of his feelings alone. Although, you know, that’s kind of how it’s supposed to go. I mean it did when I went through it.”  
  
It was like the table had just collapsed underneath him – the air rushing out of his lungs and his eyes going dangerously wide and Killian knew his jaw had fallen somewhere close to the floor, mouth suddenly dry and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

It was like he’d just sprinted across the studio and made emotionally-based cupcakes and… “Really?” he breathed, just a bit terrified at the answer.

Emma nodded. “This is not how I planned on this going. Like, at all. There was supposed to be more romance and swaying you and something about how you kind of already were and it was really just a formality, but then you went and stole all my thunder last night.”  
  
His whole body shook when he laughed, leaning forward like he couldn’t quite support all of his weight and he was still sitting on the table. There was a plate of cupcake crumbs dangerously close to his left thigh.

Emma moved, the chair scraping on the floor sounding painfully loud even in a still jam-packed studio, full of people losing their mind over the crafts services spread a few feet away. She rested her hands on his shoulders when she stood in front of him and Killian’s hands felt back on her waist, trying to keep her there if only to make sure this wasn’t some crazy, twisted dream he’d come up with.

He wasn’t sure he was that creative.

And it felt too _real_ to be fake. He was far too happy.

“Should I be apologizing for that?” Killian asked, tilting his head slightly and his eyes closed as soon as Emma’s fingers worked their way into his hair.

“Nah,” she laughed. “I was willing to share the spotlight a little bit. And who could counter the sheer romanticism of being asked if I wanted buy a restaurant? You know, with all my capital and what not.”  
  
“Do you need capital to buy a restaurant?”  
  
“Isn’t that something you should know? You own two restaurants.”  
  
“I own stake in two restaurants,” Killian corrected. “Scarlet would be quick to point that out. And then probably be insulted that anyone would even suggest anything else.”

Emma laughed again, letting her head fall against his shoulder and Regina was absolutely reorganizing the shooting schedule so they could do this. “So, what you’re saying then is your super romantic question wasn’t really so much a question as it was opposite of the truth?” Emma asked, mumbling the words into his shirt.

He’d never actually put a jacket on.

He was going to have to give Regina a questionable number of olives in her martini that night.

“Swan, you haven’t actually asked me anything,” Killian pointed out, tapping one finger on her hip. “If we’re going to get technical.”  
  
“I really did have a plan.”  
  
“I’m not doubting that love, but I also asked you to buy two restaurants last night and that wasn’t really my intention either so, you know…”  
  
He didn’t finish.

And Killian wasn’t going to actually argue that.

One of them sighed – or maybe both of them sighed, _both of them definitely sighed_ – as soon as Emma pulled her head up, fingers still in his hair and lips back on Killian’s and he was, suddenly, thankful for the judge’s table.

She took a deep breath when she pulled away, tugging her lip in between her teeth when she realized he chased after her. “Were you this nervous?” Emma asked softly and his heart grew or beat half a beat quickly and he squeezed his hand slightly, some unspoken encouragement that he hoped helped. “I don’t even know why I’m nervous. You totally know.”  
  
“Eh, I have a hunch,” Killian said. “Henry was very determined to keep secrets.”  
  
“That’s because he wanted me to ask like...weeks ago.”  
  
“Weeks?”

Emma widened her eyes, like that was obvious and he’d kind of hoped, but there hadn’t been a repeat _dad incident_ and maybe he’d been waiting for all of this.

In the middle of the studio.

In between rounds of a cooking competition that would probably require him to use orange-colored frosting at some point.

“Yeah, weeks,” Emma said, tugging on the front of his shirt. “Although we didn’t really talk about it until a couple days ago. At least not officially.”  
  
“There’s still no question there, love.”  
  
“That’s because I’m kind of freaking out.”  
  
He was going to ask why.

The question was there, on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be asked, but Emma’s eyes were just on the wrong side of glossy and Regina was absolutely stalling, but both she and Ruby would have some kind of meltdown if they needed to fix makeup between rounds.

And he knew why.

“Yes,” Killian said, nodding once for emphasis and Emma was still, somehow, biting her lip. “Just...yes. Absolutely. We’ll get Locksley to do it.”  
She blinked quickly, like she was just a bit stunned to see him still standing there – or, well, sitting there. He was still sitting on the table.  
  
“Wait, what? I thought you only had a hunch.”  
  
“I did, but Locksley volunteered to serve as character witness when I agreed for Rol. So he owes me or something.”  
  
Emma’s mouth hung open, air rushing out of her and her shoulders sagged, but it wasn’t disappointment. It was...emotion or something sentimental and he didn’t really need the actual question because the answer was always going to be _yes_ and _yeah_ and _absolutely_ and he’d hire eighty-two lawyers and promise absolutely everything if it meant they all got what they wanted.

A family.

Officially.

Or, well, more officially. Official’er. That wasn’t a word.

“Or something,” Emma mumbled, words catching just a bit on the emotion in her voice. “So that’s a yes then...to the question I haven’t actually asked.”

“You don’t have to actually ask the question, Emma,” Killian said and her eyes darted up towards his, breathing picking up just a bit when she tugged both of her lips back behind her teeth. “Locksley will do it. Although we should probably get someone from your side too.”  
  
“Mary Margaret will do it. Or David. You think character witnesses get bonus points for being cops? We could force him to put on his ceremonial uniform.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s what that’s called.”

“What is it called? Dress blues?”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
“You think it would make a difference?”  
  
“I don’t know, I’ve never been on the actual adopting side of things before.”

Emma exhaled again, but there was something else on the edge of it – something that might have been laughter or excitement or just the general embodiment of all the good things in the entire world. “God, I didn’t expect that to sound so…” she muttered.  
  
“What?”

“Nice. Is nice a super lame way of explaining it? Because it’s...I mean, it’s so much more than nice, but we’ve kind of got a habit of just having all these major life moments at once and it’s been, like, a crazy twelve hours and I’m actually kind of exhausted, but…”

Emma took another deep breath, pulling her head up to stare at him and it was like the world paused or froze or just wanted to give them half a moment to take it all in.

And, well, she was right.

It was a lot, but maybe also everything and then some and even that wasn’t really enough because she’d shown up in a conference room and kissed him on Halloween and the entire world seemed to reorient itself around Emma.

Like she was the goddamn sun.

“I mean...it’s really kind of a technicality and it’s not like Henry’s ever really had a dad figure who wasn’t David, but you’ve been so...God, I can’t think of another word except nice. That’s really disappointing, actually.”  
Killian laughed in spite of whatever it was his pulse and his heart and, possibly, his lungs were doing. “I’m ok with nice, love.”

“That’s good because I really can’t come up with another word. And I really, really want this. And Henry wants it and I can’t believe he didn’t just shout it in your face when he realized I hadn’t asked last night. We came up with a whole schedule.”

“Yeah?”  
  
Emma nodded. “There was an outline and everything. It’s all written down if you want to see it.”  
  
“Absolutely. What was on it?”

She twisted her mouth slightly, letting her eyes move back up to the ceiling, the way she did when she was thinking or trying to figure out measurements in her head or help Roland reduce fractions at the bar. “Getting to the party on time was at the time of the list. So, you know, that went real well. And then bringing up how much we both want this and how easy this whole family thing is and then maybe mentioning something about setting a date.”  
  
“We did that.”  
  
“We did,” Emma smiled. “There was more though. And the date didn’t exactly include Scarlet the online minister.”  
  
“We should introduce him that way at the ceremony.”  
  
“You act like he’s not going to just announce it to everyone who comes into The Jolly for the rest of his life.”  
  
Killian laughed and everything felt lighter and brighter and nice and that didn’t really go with the rhyme, but they were in the middle of the longest fifteen minutes in the world, so nothing really made sense. “Yeah, that’s probably true,” he agreed.

“So,” Emma continued. “There was the date and then we were supposed to go home and maybe I wouldn’t be wearing a crown or just an updated version of the same Halloween costume I’ve been wearing for years and I would tell you that you...have changed everything and, well, I always thought that it would just be me and Henry. And that was fine because I was positive that was the way it had to be, but then you showed up and started baking and cheering on sidelines and that _dad incident_ happened and I want you there. For everything.

Officially and legally and it wouldn’t make a difference one way or another because I know you wouldn’t do anything differently, even without the title, but you’ve been everything to Henry and this is...I really want this.”  
  
He kissed her.

And he was fairly certain he’d never moved that quickly in his entire life, surging up and it would be difficult to bake when his mind was entirely focused on _that_ noise Emma made and the way her eyes widened slightly and there were footsteps coming back towards them.

Neither one of them moved.

They just kept making out in the studio.

“I probably shouldn’t have done this in the studio,” Emma murmured, ignoring Henry’s groan when he realized what they were doing. Again. “I don’t know how I’m going to be able to eat cupcakes after this.”

“The anti-pumpkin brigade?” Henry asked, shouting the question and leaping towards the table. He nearly dropped the plate of food he was holding.

“What?”  
  
Henry grinned and even Regina looked like she was on the edge of some type of particular emotion. “None of us wanted to bake with pumpkin,” he explained. “I mean, Killian was getting all uppity about it because he said it was obvious, but it was still the same sentiment. It’s a good collective name, don’t you think?”

Ruby was crying.  
  
“Where did you come from?” Emma asked, glancing towards her producer as she tugged Henry against her side and picked a piece of candy of his plate.

“Don’t worry about it, Em. So, uh, we good now? The anti-pumpkin brigade?”  
  
“How do you know about that?”

Ruby shrugged. “I know everything. And Rol was, like, just beside himself. He’s convinced this makes Henry his cousin.”  
Killian wasn’t going to be able to bake. He still had to bake. They were absolutely going to win.

And they did.

Henry got, at least, two feet on his jump when they announced it, punching the air and screaming something that, at least, wasn’t a string of teenage obscenities, but Killian glanced towards Emma immediately, the smile on her face finding its way into the center of him or his soul or something and they drank more champagne at The Jolly that night.

“Here,” Emma said, hours later with her hair tied up and an ancient US Navy-branded t-shirt on. She dropped the sheet of paper on his outstretched legs, sinking onto the corner of the bed and she was biting her lip again.

“What is this?” Killian asked. He didn’t have to. He knew.

It was the schedule – Henry’s writing almost blatantly obvious as soon as Killian looked at it and he felt his breath catch when he saw the final bullet point.

 _Mention it might be ok if there were more cooks in the kitchen. Eventually._  
  
Emma eyed him warily, a furrow in between her eyebrows that would probably take several days to smooth out. Killian was still trying to breathe.

“I told him it was a terrible pun, but you’re some kind of major life influence, so it’s probably your fault anyway,” she whispered and his laugh sound strangled even to his own ears.

“Emma, are you….”

“No, no, no, but, uh, you know, in the grand scheme of ideas and moments, this seemed like something to talk about too and, well, maybe…”  
Killian should probably stop cutting her off with his mouth, but his brain was probably being deprived of oxygen too and, God, he _wanted_ and had and the future was some kind of incredible possibility and partnership and he couldn’t come up with another word except _nice_ either.

And they filled out the initial paperwork on Halloween – Mary Margaret and Robin each screaming when they talked about character witnesses and court dates and David actually offered to wear dress blues without Emma even asking – sitting at the bar at The Jolly with more candy and smiles and empty glasses.

* * *

It took forever. Or what felt like forever. And there were court approvals and shows and even more cooking specials and a wedding in the snow and Scarlet really did tell everyone who walked into The Jolly he was an ordained minister.

And they tried and waited and _hoped_ and Emma barely made it out of bed, the light from the alarm clock lingering on her cheek when she pressed her hand over her mouth and ran towards the bathroom at the other end of the hall.

It was six-thirty in the morning.

It took half an hour to get to the Duane Reade at the end of the block.

And that felt like forever too, but they waited and hey hoped some more and, maybe, they both cried sitting on the floor in the goddamn bathroom when Henry opened the door.

“Pumpkin?” he asked, leaning against the frame with a knowing smile on his face and Emma nodded.

“Yeah, exactly that,” Emma said and Killian beamed and, maybe, Henry cried too and they made pumpkin-spice cookies that afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How we doing after the fluff fest, guys? There was a lot of stuff and a bit of a time jump at the end and I'm not totally ruling out writing that jump because I can't seem to stop writing about these two idiots. As always, you guys are awesome and @laurenorder is awesome. 
> 
> Come flail on Tumblr and if you reblog the Follower Giveaway post, I'll maybe write you fic: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> It is the 'verse that just won't end! But, honestly, @laurenorder texted me a few weeks ago and was like "you should write Halloween OOOTFP" and I was like...."oh, yeah, no, that makes sense." So here we are and here are Halloween things.
> 
> This was @laurenorder's idea, but she also made it better. Come flail on Tumblr: welllpthisishappening.tumblr.com


End file.
